


The Nets Spun Over Years

by fullofshame



Series: Blessed Glory [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Apprenticeship, But from monster perspective, Gen, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Magic, Mentions of Violence, Mentors, Monsters, Mountains, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Slice of Life, Spiders, Spirits, Youkai, as might be expected characters have bit looser view on it than we
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23946469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofshame/pseuds/fullofshame
Summary: What does a jorogumo do when she isn't feeding on people, and what sort of life is it?
Series: Blessed Glory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1087812
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	The Nets Spun Over Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nelja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelja/gifts).



> Hi! So this is my gift for my friend Nelja, who is very sweet, knows so much about many things, and is in general very dear person. This was supposed to be present for Christmas, but uni came in and ruined that, so I am very, very sorry!
> 
> I finally got some free time and I wrote down this. It doesn't really have a plot and characterisation isn't as deep as it could be, but I don't know when I will have free time again so I am putting it out. I may come back later and rework it. Still, I hope that I will like it. I decided to write something that is sort of exploration of jogorumo's life, how she thinks and how they see each other and how spider becomes one.
> 
> To note, of course, is that nothing here really reflects my personal opinion. This is a story about spider youkai that feeds on people and gaiend magic by transcending limitations of arachnid thought after death. Suffice to say, her opinion on morality, how human interlopers should be treated, and personhood aren't really what I'd advise in life.
> 
> A note on setting: Blessed Glory is big dystopian verse that is mix of original ideas and mythology and religion of many many cultures and traditions, in world where various supernatural forces are at odds with each other, and humanity is ruled by global empire divided in 4 parts , depending on hemispheres of planet. While I plan to base it on historical periods and real life happenings, I will change and adjust stuff depending on how it fits purposes of story best. So, for example, though area this story is set in, and where protagonist will start their journey is mostly based on Heian Japan, emperors posses much higher power and influence then they did in real life.  
> Other works in series will get taken down and rewritten eventually. Less smut and far, far more plot and wolrdbuilding and characters. Dear me...
> 
> Similarly, magical system and way it all works will be absed on real life practices and cosmologies, but changed to fit fantasy setting better (obviously in real world we can't, unfortunately, control elements, heal wounds with magic, or open gates to underworld). I plan to feature many traditions, from Hittite but focus, at least in beginning, due to protagonist, will be on Taoism, Buddhism and Shinto, with influences of Chinese folk religion and Hinduism. I plan to stay as accurate as possible, but if I make some gross mistake, either historical or cultural, or do something that is insulting, I apologise and promise I will do my best to rectify it. You don't have to forgive me, but I swear it is unintentional, and to tell me if anything is incorrect or offending, and I will change it or take it down.
> 
> The Ways Chiasa refers to, and how demons work, though inspired by novels and comics and religious texts I read, are my original invention. I hope they are fun to you, and that I get to develop them further.
> 
> Some notes for words mentioned, here and below:
> 
> Aiya- Means beautiful silk
> 
> Chiasa- one thousand mornings
> 
> Mizuki- Auspicious omen
> 
> Joroguomo- Most famous arachnid youkai, jorogumo is a youkai that starts out as spider, and develops magical powers, and upon reaching 400 years, develops ability to turn in human. They seduce and feed on men in legends, but as in mine work spirits are incorporeal, thus jorogumo inavades man's dreams and uses illusions to seduce them and feast on their lifeforce, like in Taihei-Hyakumonogatari . Their names mean ,,whore spider'' or ''entangling bride.'
> 
> Waterfall Mistress- Refers to famous spider woman said to inhabit Joren Falls of Izu. She was mostly a malicious spirit, but sometimes approached to help with natural disasters. Story of man who decided to marry her is referred to here at one point. Joren Falls likely don't exist anymore in this world but had to mention her.
> 
> Golden orb weaver- A spider from Japan that, according to legend, turns into jorogumo upon 400 years of age. They weave very ornate nets, which are golden in colour.
> 
> Youkai- General name for creatures from Japanese folklore and mythology. While it can be translated as demoon, it isn't accurate enough, because youkai range from malicious to mischievous to benevolent, and contain many different creatures.
> 
> Tengu- A famous youkai from folklore and folk religion, seen as either very powerful youkai or mountain kami. Originally harbingers of disasters and wars, they came to be seen as protective spirits of mountains and forests, sometimes implied to hold authority over other youkai. Often seen with avian features.
> 
> Qi- Sometimes spelled as chi in english, important concept in Taoism and Chinese traditional medicine, one of three treasures alongside jing and shen. Can be described, and here is used, as lifeforce. Many trickster youkai, such as jorogumo and malicious fox-spirits, consume it from men.

The moon was beautiful tonight. And you knew it was truly remarkable, for as everybody who knew her would tell you, Aiya didn't have poetic inclinations in her soul at slightest.

She was not sort of person who paid attention to such things. A butterfly was just a meal, not a pretty and sad symbol of ephemereal life and passing, elegant existence. To her robes were only red and orange with yellow trim, not fabric given visage of autumn leaves and flickering flames. She had no gift for seeing beauty in rain and mud, or sunlight upon frost or swallow's cry, and in truth found it often pretentious and mind-numbingly boring.

(Not that she would ever admit that, for her teacher, who had habit of watching sunrises and wrote many books and had collection of painted porcelain cups, would squish her if she ever voiced the thought. Well, she wouldn't, but she'd give her such offended glare that Aiya would find first option preferable.)

She didn't think that would ever change, but you could never be sure. After all, it was only relatively recently that she gained ability to understand human speech at all, finally realizing meaning and point of complex and confusing sounds they emitted, and some time ago she could not even hear like them, or goats, or foxes, but relied on vibrations and hairs on her legs. And two hundred years ago, she could not imagine eating anything but flies, and she would scoff at thought of walking on less than eight legs!

Not that she was really walking. That was how it was with spirits, whole no feet thing. Bit weird, sure, because she felt strangely weightless and dizzy, even after all these years, like silken strand of web caught in wind (see! She was actually getting hang of similes, teacher would like it), but as somebody who never had feet and who had ability to switch between three forms (two of which did have legs, and one up to ten limbs), she dealt with it far better than some yurei she knew, including one unfortunate onryo who was abused postman in life, and thus his need to sate his vengeance by inflicting bloodshed and madness upon those whose ignorance and disregard led to him dying of heat stroke and his widow being harassed by creditors had been forced to take backseat until he figured out how to travel through walls and villages without floating off in stratosphere in curvy line.

But then, she supposed it was harder for humans, especially recently dead ones, than somebody who had four hundred years of practice. And even she had been panicked and angry and lost at first, and had good enough reason to be- there she was, a normal and honest golden orb weaver, making her way home across a table (which was in really inconcenient spot, but she didn't complain, because she was lady and knew you ahd no choice butt o suck it up), minding her own business and planning new designs to spin, hoping to catch a tasty butterfly, when blasted taoist on whose table she was making her way, utterly harmless and without being inconvenient in slightest to anybody, screamed like mad and turned her in stain with his book.

Yes those were some strange and hard years. Though means she still hadn't figured out, her soul lingered on, tapped in pages (might have something to do with part of her body seeping in paper, or her own rage, or capricious luck). And while book did bring minot misery to owners, such as paper cuts and eventual mould in ceiling, it was far too minor and slow to be seen as curse, and without exorcism she spent about a three years trapped between pages.

She still wasn't sure whether it was a stroke of luck, or her own decision (not that it mattered in the end) that prevented her from wasting all her stregth into curse at her killer. No spider, not even one as naturally talented as her, had enough spiritual energy to power a noticeable curse and direct it at human who slew them. Perhaps it was because, unlike men, spiders are simple and honest folk, who have no time for grudges and regrets, but go through life dealing with whatever hand fate saw fit to give them, and making best of it with no thought for _maybe_ and _what if_. They did not even have concepts of murder, for they grew aware that they killed to survive, and others would do same. Thus, upon death animals quickly rejoined cycle of rebirth, and needed no funeral rites, elsewhere their souls dispersed and disappeared, torn apart by strange attachments.

And sometimes, somebody like her happened. Animal that wanted **more** , needed more, sought more. That pierced through veil of ignorance and was invigorated by spark of curiosity, asking and thinking, turning inwards, considering and theorising. What was nature of life, why could she still notice things even if she had no body, why did she stay, what did strange markings of colour upon pages even mean, why could she not leave book?

And once you went down that path, there was no going back. The dam was broken, and she was changing, becoming something more. Her mind working in ways brain of spider was never meant to operate (perhaps, unburdened by hunger and sleep, by bones and synapses, only then could souls become whatever they wanted to be), paying attention to other things than changing of sun and moon, spring and winter, clear sky and merciless rain, to flight of flies and skittering of squirells, as if her eye expanded enough to hold a whole of world in it, the mountains and seas.

Perhaps that was due to nature of text in which she was imprisoned, on which her body was splattered. Books are curious and mighty things, ideas and feelings given form by means of symbols of ink, condemned to parchment, to dead skin and dead wood. A material as mundane as chair or door, something once alive now dead, it's corpse used for human means. Such is way of world.

And yet, so much more. The appearance, the weight and body were just secondary, vessels for knowledge contained within, knowledge that came from somebody else, their own mind and essence poured within, carried through medium of brush and ink. Knowledge that passed from hand to hand, sweaty finger fat and bony holding them, reading and learning, adding and scoffing, reacting, making associations, bestowing judgement and emotions upon books. All things had souls, but books just might have had spirits. And that was if they were but a mundane scribblings, and not spellbooks.

For this was truth men often forgot. Spellbooks didn't just contain writings on magic, they were magical themselves. They were why a mage or shaman or priest might be able to sucessfully carry out rite, if they followed steps within pages, even if they had no covenant with spirits they invoked, if they didn't even hear of some ingreditents listed. The spell had power of it's own, was almost entity in it's own right, given birth by spirits that were accessed to realize it, conceived by one who first invented it, refined by time and fed by each man who performed it.

To read was to borrow knowledge of those who turned pages before you, to harness might of spirit that lived inside words and spine of book itself. To be mentored was more than just learning words to invoke powers and rituals to raise magic, it was to be inducted in tradition, to be made familiar to spirits, and be empowered and aided by all who came before you, so that spell would recognize you and jump to your aid like brother.

And thus, her journey down the Path of Lessons started, in the seven hundred years old text about curses and divination, the spirit of paper and ink (of which spells were like organs or cells), enveloping and flowing around her own, filling her mind with images and concepts she never paid attention to, with knowledge of names of twenty eight celestial mansions, of what to do with the straw effigy at hour of ox. Basic stuff, she realized now, but we would be nowhere without foundations, and for a spider it was truly beginning of a new world.

And once she took all she needed, she managed to find strength, to snap bonds of attachments to body that was long since gone and cleaned off pages, the futile anger at human she couldn't remember, who acted out in annoyance or fear, as they often do, and walk away, running back into wild and shadows, unbothered by distance or time, by hunger or fatigue, and seek out more to learn, to become something else, like those great ladies who span their webs among entire treelines, and caught yokai and men for their meals.

She had to be careful, of course. She was dead, but that didn't mean she couldn't be harmed. She was a mundane ghost animal, which meant she wasn't powerful enough to defend herself yet, but she had also started to practice Taoist arts, which meant she could still attract undue attention. She could prove a valuable meal for any minor oni or hungry ghost, because for all her weakness, her soul would be rare delicacy, and easy to catch, and she knew well how each year of magical prowess counted. She had little to offer, but little was better than nothing, and who knew when another cultivating spider would pass across a demon's way?

So she learnt to conceal and hide herself, from demons and yokai, from mages seeking souls that could be made in useful shikigami, from Liminals (whose attention was never good, even if they were currently inactive), and from her own peers. And she learnt to crawl and listen, to sneak in libraries and caves and inspect old texts and oracular bones, to snatch away snippets of knowledge and spells, and to hunt, others of her kind, mostly flies and butterflies that set themselves on same path as her, to devour them and take all they knew unto herself, and to consume their own prowess.

But it would not be enough. It would never be enough, those stolen moments and pieces of information, not without guiding hand that would explain how things truly worked to her, not without somebody to give her connected, whole treasure, not snippets of information. Not without somebody giving it over willingly, showing her best way to utilitize power of those spells, not without being inducted in tradition, being included among true practicioners, having access to that endless river of venerated ancestors who would empower her. Alone, she was no more true youkai and magical user than semi-literate woman who got her hands on burned pages of Taoist text was a nun.

And then there was _her_.

The one before whom Aiya felt immense admiration and dread all at once, at first sight of her. More than twice her age and ten times as strong, surely. The Madam of Floating Willow Library. The venerated youkai poet. Woman of hundred faces. Student and heir of the Venerated Waterfall Mistress, as respected as she was feared wielder of Leg Snatching Thread technique. The woman who had feasted herself on more blood and qi than perhaps all other beasts and demons of mountain, yet was surely far lovelier and sweeter than any human young miss. A woman who could have ruled mountain if she wished so, yet was kind enough to such minor and inconsequential spirit.

Chiasa-sama.

To stand before her, even now, as student and master, was as if she was still but a newly hatched creature, and a gentle breeze caught and carried her. Chiasa-sama was natural and inexplicable, and she was comforting and patient and sweet and gentle, and she could uproot your life and smash you in pieces without noticing. The woman who accepted a young, lowly youkai-in-attempt as student out of sheer generosity.

(She felt it, when it happened. Something in her snapped in place, as if piece of Chiasa-sama's power reached out and fed her, and since then world seemed brighter, her own form and place in it more defined. And all others knew her, as if it was written in core of her, admission that said _She is worthy, she is my student and thus my kin and heir, and to touch her is to war against me, and she will break your bones and suck you dry for she is no prey._ )

And so, when she skittered and hid under leaves before, she walked (or more accurately, floated) freely, able to go on her own business as long as she aggravated and harassed nobody, and kept off darker paths, for there were parts where only few of spirits dared to tread. Some of paths were inauspicious by themselves, resentment and fear and remnants of dark spells and kegare clinging to them. Others led to lairs of brutal creatures that didn't want to be disturbed.

Such were ways of haunted mountain, one of few left in world, at least if spirits living there were to be believed. The dead and nature spirits gathered there, in one of few places where trees grew lush and thick, and where water was clean, and air almost free of human smog. Humans wanted to use it, of course, and though yokai made peace with villagers before, they would not allow their woods to be cut down and their streams filled with filth, not when there were only few places in world left.

And though not many yokai desired flesh and blood, no matter what stories said, and had their own friendships and markets, and danced and laughed around fires, and walked in processions full of joy and peace, they were still savage creatures, beings of bone and steel, sap and blood. They didn't like idea of Empire claiming yet another spoil, for sake of factory that would be shut down in few decades and poison land for centuries. They fought back, and men learned to avoid mountain, though never for long.

(Sometimes, Aiya thought of farmers and villagers, of women who climbed rocks without trouble and grumbled all while, of children who, with dedication most respected scholar and greatest samurai couldn't match, went in woods to pick mushrooms for meals and medicines.

She thought of villagers with bony hands and sallow skin, and missing teeth, to whom she came in dreams, though she had already fed well, and convinced them to love her, more than their own kin, until she sapped away last drops of qi. She never thought back on her meals, and yet...

The official with moustaches as sharp and gray like blade, and frown just as cutting, hissing threats at villagers to raise up axes and carry material. Of families who had to leave their ancestral homes, for spirits turned on them. Something inside her twisted and moved, and those images wouldn't leave her.)

There were mages sent to chase them out, of course. Kannushi and onmyoji, miko and itako, yamabushi and daoshi, monks and shamans of all sorts. Some were strong and defeated them , and some were learned and sealed them, and some were talented and used tricks and mediums hard to combat, and some had silver tongues and words of honey that stung like venom ( _why take lives of these people, they did nothing to you, they are as much pushed to brink as you by daimyo, they don't want or need this.._ ).

But in end, spirits prevailed. Mages had to agree there were too many to fight off, and it was their turf (and their home, and they would fade away and never reincarnate but come back as tormented shades if it was lost), and such things, they told their lords, were rare nowdays and destroying them would be great loss (and here lords narrowed their gazes, so they told them of curses mountain might unleash, and how mages might channel it's power to help households, and how famed their provinces would be, for their lord tamed and held at bay such monsters) and even villagers agreed because dealing with demons and curses was not worth it, not even for gold and rice to feed whole family for five years, much less factory where they would throw away health and days for sake of products they would never use, their crops poisoned.

Demons. Heh. Nobody called her that in long time...

People often confused youkai and demons. She supposed that to a human _invisible spirits inconveniencing my daily life_ are all the same, and so are they to amateur mage who gets no respect for work but still gets dragged out in middle of work to perform exorcism. And one can turn from one in another, sure, and there are muddled lines often, and sometimes two are same, just as there are gods who are demons too, but still...

(What is a youkai? A spirit that isn't human, or at least not anymore, but can figure out how they think. Or, human ghost that found something in common with beasts and birds, or nature spirits. Youkai is fox that learnt to lie, and cat that learnt to dance. It is a sparrow that knows how arrow is made, and turtle that knows what human ships use oil for, and wheel that learnt how to speak, and umbrella that knows to hate, and vase that loves somebody else. Youkai is skeleton that can argue and spider that reads. Youkai are a wide bunch, as wide as animals and plants, bunch of different beings showed together under same category, but they are all people.

Demons are big category, and they are people too, but they are something else also, more and less at same time. Demons are creatures unenlightened, but not because they are steeped in ignorance and far away from light of truth as spiders or men, but because they are shadows. Demons are cravings and children of hunger and formed from poisons, and that doesn't mean they are bad. The golden orb weaver's venom isn't evil, but that doesn't mean it is safe. Demons were creatures of attachments as strong as iron chains and as binding as hanging rope

There were as many sorts of demons as there were regrets, and each was different because each pain was unique, but in their origins they could be separated in rough groups. Some demons were not violent, or malicious, but they were dark and toxic. Creatures formed from kegare, from spiritual pollution, spawned from underworld itself, or born from dark magic. They were essence of hunger, and to be avoided as much as possible.

Others were not evil, and held least ill intent out of any, but perhaps most dangerous. They were things that caused hunger, harbingers of disasters, born from ruination. They were creatures of fevers and floods, of fires and filth, and as much part of natural world, and as unwelcome, as bad weather and unfortunate circumstances.

And there were demons born from what hungers brough upon, formed from people's mental formations. Demons who were to nightmares what youkai were to animals and objects, fears that learnt to bargain, hate that learnt to laugh, bitter thoughts and cold memories that learnt to run.

And people could become demons too. A soul damaged and insulted beyond what they could stand, could be consumed by hunger that grew in them. The body desecrated, the name dragged through mud, the betrayal, the sorrow they could not move on, the pain and anger and hate would prove too much until it spread like sickness, and spirit stagnated until one day it rotted away and became a screaming demon driven by it's wish, a beast devoured with aversion and craving.

And perhaps the worst, if you looked on it as curse, or something immoral, were those who chose to become demons, either half-aware or uncaring of consequences. Those who embraced their hunger, who let their obsession become core of them, who held up their desire like golden chain, and held it close to their chest, clutching it even as it burned like boiled pitch, and whispered, I want you, I need you, I deserve you, I shall place you first above all, I shall pursue you to exclusion of all else. They kept mind of man and had ferocity of plague and concern of beast, for nothing mattered but path that took them to fulfillment of their craving fastest, accepting and embracing their sins and curses, knowing of the delusion yet believing in it wholly.

Never would she confess those thoughts out loud, for she knew how awful they sounded, like those among humans who thought they were allowed to insult others based on their birth or profession, because they had friends who shared those qualities with their victims. And she knew that those demon friends of hers would never share what they thought of her. How could she live such dull and empty existence, life without purpose and great passion, cold and simple, as if she was still animal, and that was okay. Neither could she imagine herself content with such defined and contained life, forever restless and wanting, driven beyond all means and limits for sake of single, everburning hunger that could not be sated until nothing was left of you but ash, and then you reincarnated as something lowly and weak.

But that didn't make it bad by itself. There were beings in this mountain that could never conceive why anybody would adopt human form, and billion spiders would never get interested in reading magical texts, and Aiya saw no point in being untethered from world and extinguishing her cravings and reaching enlightement. But that didn't make any of those things lesser and pointless, that just meant they weren't existence that would be pleasurable for her, just as hers wouldn't be comfortable for others.

And Liminals, who were always stationed at mountain, even before eldest youkai was alive and oldest demon arrived, before most ancient tree was a seed, weren't comfortable for anybody, no more than blade in gut.)

There are no borders on the mountain, but there are territories, for spirits feel, and prosper in different places, and they need homes and abodes they consider theirs to remain tethered to this world, this form, instead of being carried away in next life. Aiya's mistress, Chiasa-sama dwelled in a giant willow tree, built and shaped for her by various kodamas she befriended, hermit mages she had mutually-beneficial relationships with, and even, it was whispered, a tengu who oved her few favors, and rogue defective Liminals she bargained with.

The tree, which some suspected had started to cultivate and practice magic on it's own, was almost as old as Chiasa-sama, and yet young enough that in some remote parts of mountain people still marvelled over it. Tall and wide as tower, branches woven and trunk hollowed out to make chambers for treasures and receiving guests (often covered with illusions that gave them appearance of rooms in manor, some so well that even experienced youkai could almost be tricked, to say nothing of humans), the wood hard enough to resist axes and chainsaws, shaped by will of nature spirits, and by mantras and chants Chiasa-sama learnt from books lost to all but her.

Paths there weren't dangerous, not too much, and nobody would get killed or sliced apart or turned in shade or lose half of their magical prowess from following them. They would just be waylaid by subtle compulsions and elegant illusions, whispering in their subconscious mind until they walked in circles for days, or hallucinated something silly and embarassing. And if you knew where spells where anchored, or correct passwords, or charms for protection, you could easily slip beyond.

Aiya was perhaps one of three people in world with whom Chiasa-sama shared keys to her home.

She arrived soon, and started floating up tree's branches, to the very top of crown, where Chiasa-sama often stood and watched changing of stars and divined future from stars, and slight breeze pushed stray leaves through her (for short moment, Aiya missed being just a spider, and being alive, and touching things, and smelling them with her hairs).

Chiasa-sama waited, glorious in her garb, deep red and light blue, soft purple and cloying orange, shining yellow and blinding white , delicate pink and intense green, as tasteful and impressive arrangement of clothing and jewelry as only the spider daring enough to shuffle through wardrobes and libraries of aristocracy might be able to compose, when she wasn't learning calligraphy needed to read texts she found on dusty shelves.

Perhaps it was due to being her student, or like attracted like, but part of human culture that always attracted both Aiya and Chiasa-sama was clothing. How strange and marvelous, for humans to spin threads despite lack of correct anatomy, and weave them in such interesting shapes, and cover themselves with so many colors, most of them shades their body was unable to produce. How beautiful it made them, how it warned others of their power and threat, how it protected them from sunburns and rain! And how smart their tools were, needle and loom both! It almost amde Aiya long to be reincarnated as one, just so she could wear those pretty and protective fabric, and apprentice herself to a weaver or seamstress.

Alas, as spirits they could only watch, not carry or dress themselves. And very few youkai, even her mistress, had enough reserves of power ready to waste to reinvent new human shapes, especially for minor decorations such as kimono or earrings ( which was why assuming alternate form was such important part of any shapechanging youkai's journey, for they would most likely be stuck with it forever, and if their practices depended on tricking humans they needed to think very well about what sort of disguise they would wear, and how they would prey on mortals, for until more than thousand years passed they would not be able to change even colour of their belts or shape of their nose). Chiasa-sama was exception, for she had up to four human shapes, yet longed to customize them...

And solution came a year ago, in form a new Liminal ( _hanyou_ , Chiasa-sama always said), that empire assigned to watch over mountain. A defective thing, that possesed few abilities, rather meager ones, but it was peaceful and terribly skilled at them. It had somehow been taught to speak and think for itself, so it never bothered youkai, but made it's home in an abandoned fox lair, and civilly spoke with them all, and exchanged services for stories. It had taken their spirit silk, and found way to make it into kimonos and combs and fans and brushes and daggers, or whatever else they commisioned it for. It was, if not perfect and most exquisite work, then solidly done very rare.

All of it was according to their own designs, of course. Most youkai of their kind preferred to copy their human form, from women they saw their first targets leer on, but Chiasa-sama prided herself on her originality and taste, whether it came to illusionary furniture she conjured, or poetry she composed, or traps she set for ancient enemies. Alongside her ran a dozen small spiders, and it took Aiya only a moment (her bow perfect and her face betrsying no confusion or frown) to speak.

''Esteemed sensei, are those junior disciples?'' She asked, keeping her voice even. Because those small, crawling creatures, that she could barely believe she was once no different from, were alive. A spider that started cultivating as living creature, born with need for knowledge, for power, for more than their lives afforded them, to point that their exoskeleton began to feel like prison. A spider like that was born only once in thousand years, if not less...

''Hmmm. Good question. Maybe someday. For now, they are assistants. Yours.'' And with those words, spiders crawled over, finding themselves next to Aiya, and for moment it looked to her as if they were kneeeling and bowing?

''Huh?'' She said, and were she a mortal woman her face would have flared red as tomato on such ineloquent sound, after all trouble she went to to master human speech and ways to adress rich merchants and minor nobles (for they could afford better meals, routine and medical care than most others, and so their qi was rather rich and refined). But she wasn't, and so for moment her eyes grew dark and many, and her chelicerae slipped forth before she restored herself (some frowned on duch behavior, but school of Chiasa-sama and her own esteemed mistress held that best way to adapt to meal and uphold illusion was to pretend to be human even in privacy of one's own home, and some might critique it but a man went to Waterfall Mistress to offer himself even after he was halfway drained, warned by Buddhist monk, and told to stop with foolishness by a tengu, so obviously they knew what they were doing).

Chiasa-sama smiled, and for a moment her form flickered, woman and spider and something in between, afterimages blurring and colliding, like sunrise's rays upon dew caught in a web. When she spoke, her voice, though srill as low and delicate as ever, held weight of mountain, and it seared in Aiya's brain like fang wrapped in silk.

''This is very famous technique, yet only few are capable of it. You, however, show an outstanding and very promising potential. I am sure you will master it in record time.

Over years, we grow and develop and advance, but we must never forget where we came from. Past the frivolities and past the shallows surface of our being, at some fundamental level we will never change. Our destiny, our abilities, talents and attributes are written in core of our being, and we should nurture and exploit those talents and advantages, as if we are watering a seed, so it could grow in a tree. Whether they call us entangling brides or whores, we are first and foremost spiders. Therefore, we remain bound to those still living, for we are their ancestors and they our descendants, and they should honor us as we should protect and guide them. We are spiders, and so we can call upon and command them, and they can go in our stead to do what we are unable to, whether it be to spy on a kannushi or poison a prey that realized our nature far too soon.

This is Path of Qualities.

All of use posses certain talents and gifts, all unique to each of us, and myriad possibilities exist in me, you and them. But sometimes those abilities remain latent, or never blossom, remaining only potential, like seed dug too deep, or in barren soil, or withheld water it needs. Yet potential is still there, and through care or luck or shock may rise to surface. Each of these souls before you, like me and you centuries ago, posseses potential to learn and ascend above simple animal, and to discover their own powers and crafts they excel at, which may be very useful to you, and fulfilling to them. But remember that you can only guide them, not demand they realize it outside of their own pace, or use it exclusively for your own needs, or you shall only do damage.

This is Path of Awakening.

Not everything in this world comes with birth and talent. We all have limits, and sometimes we cannot cross them, though we may push at them. A human cannot breathe underwater, wolf cannot hibernate, and spider cannot fly. But we can acquire them from others, or call upon their help, either as bargain or gift. These little ones do not possess many of our abilities or knowledge, and thus we shall give them a smidgens of power, and put information in their minds, so they could go and see our work done.

This is Path of Bestowal.

We can do and gain nothing truly wothwhile alone. Strength we posses and abilities we claim, pass onto us through our ancestors and their collective might, whether by blood or love or tradition. No power and no talent is worth without knowledge of it, the ways to apply it, for knowledge is spring that feeds soul and world. This cannot be gained by simple observation, but must be passed on. You cannot know what inside of locked house looks like without entering, and somebody must invite and lead you in, otherwise you are a trespasser and thief. In order for them to help you, and for you to earn that right as ancestor, you need to guide and teach them, help them master themselves, and pass on them knowledge I passed onto you, or amount they can hadle at least. Do not hold doubt, for you shall be impressed- I remember when I made that mistake, and my master taught her assistants to control and produce fire.

This is Path of Lessons.

Remember, you are not controlling them, or even in most cases ordering them. You ask for their assistance, by your rights as elder, and in return they have right to demand you provide for them. You are their kin and they are yours, but they are themselves first, and someday one of them may be your disciple or equal.''

Were Aiya mortal woman, she would have fallen down with tears streaming down her face. But she was not, so she knelt before her sensei in deep gratitude, and turned her wight eyes towards spiders crawling around, and each she touched with her legs, not that they could really feel it, with affection of eldest sister and gravitas of queen, pulled strength from within herself, felt spiritual energy run through her like cheerful breeze, and bound each of them to her with a golden thread. For moment it shone like sunlight, before it dispersed.

And then Aiya felt them. So many tiny minds, so familiar yet strange at same time, like forgotten childhood. Simple, focused, honest, confused, driven, unafraid, constrained- yet holding potential to be so much more. And though they had no names she knew them, and though they could not understand speech they got her meaning. And she laughed, gross and loud and altogether inelegant laughter, as she regretted not being able to pick them up in her clawed hands and feel hard shells of their bodies.

''Well, that was an exquisite performance, my dear. I didn't even have to show it first, for you to set basic spell formation yourself. It seems you are rigerously reading and practicing, even in your free time... Thought it of course doesn't compare to amount of time you spend upon reciting poetry.'' And her teacher laughed clear and golden laughter, as Aiya felt sudden need to die once again.

''Aaah, the furtivness and anxieties of youth... Tell Mizuki she is welcome here, there is no need to be like that, of course I'd be pleased if two of you met in my... Aiya, Aiya wehre are you going, you know you can't escape me, I will have all details I need to hear!''

**Author's Note:**

> Kegare- Another concept from Shinto, meaning uncleanness or defilement. It is sort of spiritual pollution that must be purified. Important to understand is that it isn't equal to sin, or indicates moral failure, but naturally arises from contact with death, disease and such, perhaps best comparision ( that I am aware of) are Greek concepts of lyma and miasma (miasma being much serious, as it arises from tragedy and crime). Here, in fantasy I made it essence of power of demons and dark magic.
> 
> Cultivation- Feature of xianxia genre, based on Taoist practices, it combines religious and magical aspects with meditation and martial arts and features characters who seek to attain immortality and greater powers. Cultivate and refine their qi, search for magical treasures and immortality elixirs... Very popular and wide genre, sometimes incorrectly lumbed in with wuxia, with whom it shares some similarities and tropes.
> 
> Kannushi- Shinto priest, maintainer of shrines
> 
> Miko- Shrine maidens and attendants in shinto shrines, once likely had more shamanic role, they still today have varied and important roles in maintenance of shrines.
> 
> Itako- A tradition that is on decline in Japan, a type of spiritual medium, traditionally blind woman. Associated with rituals for divination and communication with dead.
> 
> Onmyoji- civil servants of Japanese empire, who at one point held great influence. Mix of religion, natural science and occultism, with syncretic elements of Taoism, Buddhism, Shinto. Diviners and cursebreakers, most famous is Abe no Seimei.
> 
> Yamabushi- Ascetic followers of Shugendo, syncretic religion with elements of Biddhism, Taoism and Shinto. Often held to possess supernatural powers.
> 
> Daoshi- Taoist priest.
> 
> 28 Mansions- Part of traditional chinese constellations. In this state of world they likely don't exist anymore, but I had to give them shout-out.
> 
> Ox hour curse- Ushi no toki mairi , ox hour shrine visit, ritual performed on ox hour ( between 1 and 3 AM), involves dressing in white, crowning yourself with iron ring and three candles, hammering nails in sacred tree (in modern depictions, through straw effigy), seven days in row, to cause death of enemy. Being witnessed will nullify curse.
> 
> Daimyo- Powerful Japanese feudal lords, subordinate to shogun, who ruled most of Japan in certain periods.
> 
> Hanyou- Meaning half-youkai, term was as far as I can see invented by Rumiko Takahashi, one of best and most popular magaka, perhaps most famous for her Inuyasha series. In my work it is polite term for Liminals, half-human and half-spirit creatures who are usually mindless machines. They are able to turn from corporeal to ghost, and can physically interact with spirits, as well as manipulate and injure souls. Few are defective and possess sentience and free will.


End file.
